Kuvira Alone
by Anonymous1322
Summary: After the events of the finale, Kuvira is left alone to reflect on her past, and how it has shaped who she is today.
1. Chapter 1

A glass box. That is all I am confined to now. Something that seems fragile, yet it is unyielding, unfeeling.

I wish I was a glass box.

As I sit staring at my faded reflection, I am forced to see myself as I truly am. No longer am I the great uniter; no, I am a young woman, lost beyond all hope. I alienated those I love, and in return was rightfully abandoned. As I continue pondering, the reflection shifts into an image I am all too familiar with. An eight year old is sitting, curled up into a ball, tears streaming down her face. My stomach drops as my memory projects onto the glass in front of me.

_It is a dreary, brooding day, the kind of day that holds nothing but sorrow. The darkness outside of the window implies that the sun has only just begun to rise. I watch as a younger version of myself awakens, to an empty house. Her small voice calls out for her loved ones, piercing the silence. She searches the rooms, but to no avail. The house is a skeleton, the flesh hastily torn away in the dead of the night. The girl runs to the door, standing in the threshold and searching the horizon for any sign that her parents are coming back, any sign that they care about her. As she realizes the unforgiving truth, she slides down the door frame, tears sliding down her face. Soon the soft sounds of rain falling join her quiet sobs, and thunder rumbles in the distance. The girl glances up and meets my eyes._

As I face the reflection, I feel the lonely, stinging tears threatening to spill over. The reflection slowly shifts back to reality, but the only thing that changes is the age of the girl. I look away, ashamed at what I have become, ashamed at what I always have been.

**A/N So, the finale... was fantastic. Kudos to Bryke for a great ending. I am intrigued by Kuvira's past and motivations, so here is my outlet, to keep track of the story in my mind. Out of all my villains, she is my favorite, because she showed that she is a human, who has intentions, who recognizes her faults, and who still wants to be protected. This will likely be multi-chapter. ****Shoutout to mml005's _Glass Walls_, a great one-shot that forever made me imagine Kuvira in a glass cell.**

**Anonymous**


	2. Chapter 2

Time is uneven in this cage. Days and nights meld together as I contemplate the choices I've made. The harsh, artificial light further distorts my sense of reality. Sleep evades me, but when it is in my grasp, it is peppered with memories of my childhood.

_The eight year old girl sits on a metal bench outside the office of a woman named Su. She is filthy and ragged. As she waits, she gently swings her feet back and forth, her eyes glued to the floor. She hears footsteps, and her head snaps up to find the source._

_"Who are you?" a boy, looking about her age, asks as he approaches her._

_"Kuvira," the girl replies cautiously. While_ she was living with her parents, she never really talked to other children. _She studies the boy: Zaofu native, likely wealthy, not entirely bad looking._

_"Well, I've never heard of you. You must be new here. I'm Bataar...Jr. that is. My dad is Bataar Sr. He designed and built all of the things here in Zaofu, with my mom of course," he rambled, while staring intently at the her._

_"Who is your-" young Kuvira started, but was interrupted._

_"Bataar, I thought you were working with your father today," a woman muses as she walks toward the pair of children._

_"I am, but he asked me to come get you so you can approve something." As an after thought, Bataar Jr. adds," this is Kuvira."_

_"Yes darling, I know who she is. Run on back to your father and tell him I'll be there as soon as I finish some business," she chides, glancing in the girl's direction. _

_"Yes mother," the boy says, as he jumps off of the bench. "See you later, Kuvira," he exclaims, hurrying_ back through the metallic hallway__

_"Why don't we talk in my office?" the woman kindly asks as she guides the girl through the door. _

"Bataar," I whisper, feeling the unwanted tears resurface. I am tired of crying. If anything, I should be cold and unfeeling; I had the choice to let myself be happy, but I decided that the empire was more important. After all, I fired the cannon and obliterated our relationship, murdered the one person who still cared about me, as a person, not a ruler. It is no wonder I am hated by Su: I killed her oldest son.

I may have been abandoned again, but this time, it is all my own doing.

**A/N I also believe Kuvira wouldn't know about Bataar's survival, because he wasn't seen by her again. This was a really fast update, but I'm not sure if they all will happen this quickly. I really want to write about Su and Kuvira, so that *may* be next chapter. I just have to get the details right. Thanks to incandescent-princess for catching that typo last chapter. Any commentary is good commentary.**

**Anonymous**


	3. Chapter 3

Try as I might, I have lost track of how long I have been here. The realization dawns on me as breakfast, or possibly dinner, is served through the small slot on the door. I glance at the meal. While appearing edible, I am not inclined to eat it; there are too many grudges in this city to trust the food. Next to the meal, there are two small pills and a glass of water. As I did yesterday, or possibly this morning, I drink the water and slide the pills into the slit I made in my mattress. They are painkillers, for the broken ribs and various other injuries, but they do their job too well. Once the pain is gone, all that is left are the hallucinations, which are becoming more and more frequent; besides, painkillers are much more lethal in high doses.

I lean against a wall and look at the slit, considering the consequences of such actions.

"It's not worth it, you know." Before my eyes, the young Kuvira has appeared, passively uttering those words.

"Why not?" I question defensively, scanning the apparition. She is disconnected from the wall now, appearing as an almost human specter.

"You don't know what's on the other side," she says with a smirk on her face.

"Does it matter if I know?" I ask dismissively.

"I would think so. You could spend an eternity in a hallucination, or an eternity alone in an abyss. You and I both know our actions don't warrant a 'happy ending'," she rationalizes, cold and calculating. With these words, her form shifts into a version of myself I am all too familiar with, from the armor, to the uniform, to the hairstyle, to the apathetic look in her eyes. "Not to mention, wouldn't it be a pathetic way for the Great Uniter to die?" questions none other that the Great Uniter herself, with an antagonizing smirk. I feel my chest constrict; my heart pounds as I look into her eyes. She is unrecognizable, her features a facade of power and disdain. "But then again, are you even the Great Uniter anymore?" she mockingly asks, as she moves so that I can see my reflection: dirty unkempt hair, haggard face, ill-fitting clothes, a worried, helpless expression.

With that image, I feel the adrenaline take control of my limbs, amplified by the sleep deprivation. Fear, aggression, and anger take over my facial features as I shriek. I tackle the thin air, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body. When the Great Uniter slides back into the glass, I pound my fists against it, vaguely registering the commotion below me as the guards move towards my suspended cage. It is too late to stop; I am too far gone. I feel the bones in my hands cry out, but the reflection just stands there, sneering at my weakness. A sharp pain in my right arm distracts me long enough to realize the guards are around me, trying to contain my flailing arms and legs. I feel a tingling sensation in my fingers, in the blood coursing through me.

"_Imbeciles!" _I think as I latch onto the sensation and begin bending the metal they forgot to remove in the commotion. I hear them cry out, but I am only focused on the Great Uniter. She laughs as I send blade after blade of metal at her and winks as the glass finally shatters. Even though the image is gone, her laugh echoes through my skull as the world begins to slow down. My knees hit the floor, and I hold my head as I spiral into the darkness.

**A/N- No Su this chapter; I've had to do a lot of thinking into how her character would act, especially given how she acted in the finale. Instead we get the Azula 2.0 mental breakdown of a lifetime. Most people grieve through a combination of anger and sadness, and Kuvira is no exception. This isn't the end of the flashbacks, but a little real time action was needed. Next chapter: Korra !maybe!. Depends on how that flows...**

**Anonymous**


	4. Chapter 4

I awaken in what can only be the spirit world. While it seems like a simple meadow, I know there is no way I would ever be this free in the real world. Nonetheless, I am still in my prison uniform, which consists of shapeless, matching grey-colored garments; it is a reminder of what reality holds once I return. I stand up and brush myself off the best I can. For the first time in days, I am at peace. There are no outdated Kuviras wondering around, and there are no voices in my head. I take in the beauty of the spirit world: this is only the second time I have been here, and the first time was under...extenuating circumstances. I tentatively take a few steps forward. Even though I am mentally free, I still feel the dull ache of my old injuries and the sting of the new cuts on my hands and arms. The pain reminds me of what I have just done. At the time, I was sure my breakdown would be to my disadvantage, but as I look at my actions from an outside standpoint, I slowly realize they may just ruin me. No one of stable mind would trust me again, not withstanding that I am now certifiably insane. For lack of a better response, I sigh and sink back into a cross-legged sitting position.

"Can the mentally unstable heal? Do I have a chance at a normal, or at least a sane, life?" I unknowingly ask aloud, placing my head in my hands.

"I suppose like cold tea, sanity can be rewarmed with the right tools," muses an old man who appeared out of nowhere, "but tea does lose some of its better qualities when forced to undergo drastic changes." I involuntarily flinch backwards, looking with wide eyes at the jovial old man. He looks me in the eyes, and adds, "All tea cools at some point; your destiny depends on whether or not you are willing to put in the work to warm it back up."

"Who are you?" I question.

"You can call me Iroh," he replies, with a knowing smile on his face. He offers me a hand, and adds, "Would you like to go have a pot of tea?" With no better options, and no viable escape route, I simply nod and grasp his hand, trying to pull myself up in the least painful way possible.

Once I reach Iroh's house, I am struck by how familiar the name is. Iroh...Iroh, General Iroh of the United Forces? I look skeptically at the old man, observing that he does not seem to be in shape to run an army. The name rings in my head; I know I have heard of another Iroh. Giving in to my loss for knowledge, I ask Iroh if he is related to the Iroh I am familiar with.

"Iroh is my great-great-nephew on paper, but in reality I would have functioned as a great-grandfather to him," he explains, with a forlorn look in his eyes. The Dragon of the West: he is the famous uncle of retired Firelord Zuko. We sit in silence as he prepares the tea. Once ready, he sets the the two steaming cups on the table and sets up a Pai Sho board, to my surprise. "You seem like the kind of person who would play a mean game of Pai Sho," he responds. I glance at the board. Back in Zaofu, during my childhood, Su would occasionally play Pai Sho with me. I always liked the quiet strategizing and careful planning the game offered, not to mention the declarations that I was naturally talented at the game once I won. We play the game in comfortable silence, until I am within reach of victory. As Iroh moves his piece, he breaks the silence, "You know, your playing style is very similar to a certain blind earthbender's. You have a slight variation, though, that likely defeats many opponents. But you forgot to account for one piece of mine in your strategy: the white lotus." With those words, he moves his white lotus piece, alerting me to a pattern I had not noticed before. He won. I stare at him in disbelief. "I have played many games of Pai Sho in my day and only lost a few," he reasons, as I look again at the Pai Sho board. He exploited a very small weakness in my strategy, a weakness that I knew was there, but did not expect anyone to find. I realize that he must be a master of Pai Sho, a man of legend. Looking at his board again, I ask him to teach me his strategy for Pai Sho. "It is not just a strategy for Pai Sho, " he answers gravely, with a very serious countenance, "it is a strategy for life."

After glancing around the spirit world, I simply reply, "I think I have time."

**A/N: This is always what I wanted to happen in ATLA with Azula. The character of Uncle Iroh always had serene wisdom that I think could help someone who is in a tough place or who may be broken inside. More will be explained next chapter (like how she's here, how Iroh knew to show up, etc.), as we will still be in the spirit world. The chapters are getting successively longer (sans the AN's); I count it as a small victory. **

**Happy Holidays, Anonymous**


	5. Chapter 5

"The key to a great Pai Sho strategy is accepting your faults, but not letting them define you or your actions. Your strategy is good, but you made a lot of moves to defend what you perceived as weakness. Those moves drew my attention to the fault in your positioning and allowed me to exploit it and defeat you," Iroh begins, while he resets the board, "That is human nature. Nonetheless, the best Pai Sho players have made peace with their past, in order to open their minds to the future. They do not fixate on their faults; they simply accept them and continue playing," I pause from resetting the board, letting his words sink in.

"But who are we without our pasts?" I challenge, wondering how one could just ignore an entire lifetime.

"That is what we have to journey to discover, " he replies pensively. "My nephew, though he is a great man now, was lost for quite a while. He allowed events from his childhood to drive his actions; he convinced himself that he had to regain his honor, which he was "lost" when he was exiled from the Fire Nation. He achieved his goal, but it never felt right. He was still an incomplete person. He went through a lot of pain and suffering, but he finally allowed himself to move on from his past. After that, he was a decidedly better person. He made a positive impact on the world. He won Pai Sho," Iroh emphasized, his eyes boring into my soul. I look away, unable to hold his weighted gaze.

"My journey started when I was eight. I was abandoned. I wandered around until someone took notice of me, and took me to Suyin Beifong. Su was a kind and caring person, but there was always something holding her back from being a mother to me. She loved my metalbending abilities, she loved my achievements in the city, but I do not think she ever loved me. She allowed everyone to be creative, and encouraged everyone to find their own path, but it always seemed that my path was straightforward: I was the metalbender, the protegeé, the Captain. I accepted that. To me, it was a prestigious life to live. Everything was fine until the Earth Kingdom fell into chaos. Su refused to help, I felt I had to. In my attempts to fix everything, I destroyed it instead, " I say, trying to keep my face devoid of feelings, "the story is black and white; I was good, but I turned bad."

I await Iroh's judgement that I am just another power-crazed dictator, who committed unspeakable actions, and who got what she deserved. Instead, he sits quietly for a moment, letting the story sink in.

"You are not telling me the whole story," he sighs, with a somber gaze, "if you think this will be simple, than I may have overestimated your intelligence; the difference between right and wrong is seldom straightforward."

"What do you mean?! I was wrong; I did bad things, hurt good people. There is **nothing** more to tell," I assert, feeling the anger swell within me. I begin to stand up, but hide my anger behind the familiar mask of indifference, "the world has changed since you last were there. A cup of tea and storytime won't solve problems." Iroh takes no notice of my outburst. He too stands, but he picks up the tea pot and casually asks if I would like jasmine tea. "Did you not hear what I said?" I ask, feeling like the old me.

"I heard it, yes, but I am choosing not to believe it. No matter what century it is, people are still people," he contends, while watching the tea brew, "everyone wants to categorize themselves and others, but we are complex beings." He glances up at me, eyebrows raising in surprise. I look around and, in the corner of my eye, I see it. "What an interesting transformation," Iroh comments. It is interesting; I am the Great Uniter again, from the hair to the gloves.

"Usually another figment of me, not this me, wears this," I mutter, examining the metal accents I haven't worn since my surrender.

"The spirit world is a unique place," he states, as he moves the boiling water off of the fire. "Start there," he encourages, as he steeps the tea.

"My uniform?" I question, to which he nods. "Well, it began in Ba Sing Se..." I begin, remembering the day vividly.

* * *

><p><em>We had recently arrived in Ba Sing Se. Food distributions, rehabilitations, and reconstructions were under way. The army, or should I say company, still wore the uniforms and armor of Zaofu. As conditions in the city improved, we gained popularity among the citizens. Nonetheless, there were insurgents, who believed anarchy was optimal. We chose to leave them alone: once everything was perfect, they would see the error in their ways and rejoin society.<em>

_On the day the uniforms became an issue, Baatar and I were walking around the middle ring, trying to reconfigure the destroyed residential areas: his engineering skills were invaluable during that time. As we approached an abandoned building, a group of insurgents attacked us. I had successfully dealt with problems in Zaofu, but in my strategy to defeat the insurgents, I did not account for the new environment. I pushed Baatar in the building as a turned to face my opponents. As I began to fight, I realized my uniform offered no advantages. Yes, I had metal wires, but there were too many insurgents for the wires to be a viable weapon. The wide leg pants, while useful for defending Zaofu, only slowed me down. My armor was a solid piece, unable to be easily separated and used as projectiles. I had no metal and the earth was useless; they were proficient earthbenders and able to easily counter my attacks. I was trying my best to hold my ground, dodging punches, kicks, and rocks, but every so often I would not move fast enough and would be hit by one of their attacks. After a particularly brutal round, I shielded myself with a thick wall and considered bending pieces of my armor at them. "No, I would be exposed to the full brunt of their offensives," I thought, shaking my head. With no better options, I quickly sunk them into the earth; a temporary and weak move, but a move that would buy me enough time to get Baatar and retreat to safety. As I all but dragged Baatar behind me, I created walls to try and slow the bandits further. I did not stop running until we were back in the camp. I stood dazed for a while, until Baatar gently shook my shoulder. "You're bleeding," he said, gesturing to the lacerations on my arms, torso, and legs. I simply grimaced and told him that the uniforms need redesigned._

_"I need metal, accessible metal, that can be bent and used as a weapon without diminishing the protectiveness of the armor," I commanded, disgusted at my lack of prowess during the fight. _

_"You also need medical attention," he remarked, not missing a beat. He had changed since Zaofu, becoming more bold and confident: a far cry from the meek, cowardly boy he had been before. I normally did not take commands from anyone, but the mild surprise and exhaustion made me more compliant to his request. As I was receiving medical attention, he showed me the designs he had started. One particularly jumped out at me; the combination of traditional earth greens with metal was perfect._

_"But how will the armor be bendable?" I questioned with uncertainty. He smiled and flipped to the next page of the notebook, which diagrammed the armor as thin layers of metal that could be bent independently of the layers below. As he was explaining the odds and ends, I watched his expression. I was accustomed to evaluating people's facial expressions, but it was almost addicting to watch the glee and pride that eclipsed his features. This was his happy place, his favorite thing to do; he loved creating things others would marvel at._

_"But if we're changing your uniform, we have to change the other's uniforms," he pointed out, startling me from my analysis._

_"Of course. I am sure that you will come up with something great," I absentmindedly assured him, as the medic finished bandaging my wounds, "I will check on your progress by the end of the week." With those words, I curtly nodded and left Baatar to his task._

_ He had everything designed by the next day._

**A/N: Oh, the Baavira. Sorry for the delay, holidays are crazy. Hope to update again before school gets too crazy. Thanks to all of the reviewers; comments are always useful. Welcome to 2015!**

**Anonymous**


	6. Chapter 6

"More changed than just your clothing," Iroh prompts, pouring the fresh tea into cups.

"Well, after the uniforms were perfected and manufactured, it became apparent that our campaign needed something more," I explain, remembering our struggle to reign in the criminals, "we needed a plan of attack, something that would stand against the adversity."

* * *

><p><em>"...Imagine it: Kuvira, the Great Uniter," Varrick suggests, while making a wide gesture with his hands, ending his five minute Varrick symposium on how we need a face for the campaign.<em>

_"You think I should be the figurehead?" I question, barely masking my annoyance at such a belittling proposition._

_"No, no, that didn't come across right. Does anything ever come across right? Then again, there was that one time with the stuffed wolf-bats...Never-mind! I'm talking star-power! Think of that kid Bolin: he was completely irrelevant. Named him Nuktuk, beefed up the story a bit and, BOOM, instant stardom. **Kuvira**, who fought and won against the feared Zaheer, is the Great Uniter, on a noble crusade to bring peace and prosperity to her broken homeland. Just envision what the Earth EMPIRE could be with a little bit of PR. Jhu Li, Empire: write that down." Varrick pauses to take a breath, but when he speaks again, his tone is softer, more introspective. "We need a leader of more than just the army," he implores._

_"An Empire? We haven't even stabilized Ba Sing Se," I challenge, both awestruck and terrified by his absurd idea._

_"I know, I know. But once you do, imagine the possibilities... Possibilities made possible, of course, by a high speed train engineered by yours truly at Varrick Global Industries!" he pitches, agilely switching topics._

_"Then I suggest you get to work on the train," I respond dismissively, releasing the breath I had unknowingly been holding. _

_"It will be great...you will be great...the Empire will be great!" he yells, while exiting the tent. As he leaves, I consider what he said about the 'face of the campaign'._

_In Zaofu, the focus was always group oriented. Yes, the city was started by the Suyin Beifong, but we as citizens took collective responsibility for our glory. Su was always guiding us, but we were democratic. A centralized leader would go against all of Zaofu's ideals, all of the ideals I was trained to follow._

_I look at my reflection in the mirror. While the new uniform is nearly perfect, I look strange next to the sharp lines and right angles. I subconsciously reach for my braid. Though artistic and passable, it is not the look of a 'great uniter'. I quietly snort. If what Varrick says is true, I need to adjust my aesthetic a bit. I unravel the braid and get to work. I try pulling my hair into a high bun. No, I look like a Fire Lord when I do that. The ponytail is too casual. My hair cannot be down; it would be a liability in battle. The real problem is my bangs. While a low bun works, my bangs are still wavy and untamed, much like the earth kingdom. I sigh as I take my loose, flowing bangs and braid them back, creating a small part to the side. With no better way to secure it, I wrap the bun in a thin piece of metal from my armor. I look into the mirror. If I hold my chin just right and give a piercing stare, I can almost see myself ruling an Empire, as Varrick suggests. As I look in the mirror, movement catches my eye, and I quickly turn around to catch the intruder._

_"Baatar! What are you doing here?" I ask, mentally kicking myself for playing with my hair so flippantly. That is not the image a strong leader needs to propagate; I am a powerful leader, not a vain teenage girl playing dress up._

_"I came to..uh, well...I was going to..." he stammers, his eyes flitting around the room, reminiscent of his old Zaofu-esque self. He too realizes he walked in on something he should not have. I simply look at him with raised eyebrows. Instead of retreating, as I would expect him to, he takes a steadying breath and looks me dead in the eyes. "I wanted to know if you would be willing to join me for lunch," he proposes, with an even tone and a purposely impassive face. _

_"Lunch?...I suppose I should eat..." I trail off, while looking at the various reports and other paperwork scattered around my quarters. I had not planned on taking an official lunch; I was simply going to eat as necessary while trying to address the needs of the army._

_"We could eat in here," he suggests diligently, "I could even help with this mess. I used to help Mom all the time with Zaofu's affairs." I slightly cringe at the mention of Su, remembering our 'heartfelt' goodbye. _

_"That sounds...lovely," I reply honestly. A little companionship could not hurt my image too much. And as of late, there is no one I would rather spend my time with. _

**A/N- This turned out to be more flashback than Iroh, so I'm hoping to compensate next chapter. I like the idea of Varrick handling the commercial side of the campaign, as well as the engineering side. His character is fun to write. As for Kuvira, she still has a lot of pain to overcome. So much character to explore, so little time to write! **

**-Anonymous**


	7. Chapter 7

Iroh sits silently in contemplation. Though I wish I would not, I find myself waiting anxiously for his thoughts on my story. Trying my best to keep my passive expression, I neutrally ask, "Well?"

Iroh only sighs as he retakes his seat at the board. He sips his tea thoughtfully. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks.

"This was the turning point, was it not?" he asks solemnly. "This is where the broken young woman who appeared here turned into the stony leader sitting before me..." He punctuates his last though with a sigh, causing me to I inwardly cringe.

"You know, I was once a person before I started campaigning," I protest sarcastically, more for my own sanity than his.

With those words, he furrows his brow. "We were all **once** people weren't we? We all had human ambitions and dreams. Every leader believes they will better the world, but when they finally awaken from their fantasy, they find that the world was better off without them," he soberly muses. Wistfully, he adds, " that those he loved were better off without him." He stands and moves to stand by the window. "I had to bury my son because of my ambition. The one person I loved most in the world unjustly died due to my actions." I sickeningly think of Baatar.

"But there is hope for the leaders," he sighs. "Throughout my life, I watched my family kill, discredit, and exile one another until all that was left was a dysfunctional mess." He shakes his head, "but the result was the same; the perpetrator would later become a victim. In the end, I was left with a nephew who was like a son to me, and a niece in a very precarious situation, much like your own. Zuko was already at peace with his transgressions and had asked forgiveness from those he hurt; but Azula never accepted what she had done. She lost her mind, due to the voices roaming in her head, trying to tell her to lead a life already gone. It is not particularly pleasant to watch a loved one's descent into madness. You have voices, due to your lost path; you are no longer what you were. I beg you to find balance in your life, to take lessons from your past, but not identity. A river that doesn't flow becomes vile and poisonous. Do not poison yourself. You may have been a good person before the empire, and a bad person during the empire, but that doesn't mean you are forced to bear both personalities. Free yourself of your burdens, and look within to find strength."

"I have never had to find myself! My entire life has revolved around people telling me what I can and cannot be, but never who I am on the inside. The one time I did try to find myself, I started a war!," I cry, feeling my facade, and sanity, slipping once again. "I don't know how to identify myself, I don't know how to find 'inner strength'. I don't know who I am!"

"People are not born with strength, physical or mental. They work for it; go through pain for it. It is not particularly pleasant to train muscles, but one is always better off for the training. Imagine weightlifting, but for your soul. The more pain you are able to come to terms with, the better the results. You must go through discomfort, push yourself to your limits, in order to become mentally strong. I know it is hard to bring yourself to do it, especially after the psychological injuries you have suffered, but you cannot walk through the rest of your life with a mental limp," he pleads.

"Injuries?"

"Yes, it is obvious you have suffered afflictions in your life. You protect your scars, much like a man with a fractured right leg favors his left. But protection will only bring you so far, as I am sure you have found out, and at some point, you must let the scars heal instead of burying them. I am sure it is no coincidence you favored a cool, emotionless demeanor before you were taken down," Iroh reasons, with great sincerity and empathy. I try to take a steadying breath, but it comes in short bursts, bringing the tears in my eyes to my awareness. I release a ragged sigh, reminding myself of all the times I trained for the dance troupe and guard; if I could deal with that pain, I can deal with this pain.

"I just wanted to be wanted, at any cost," I begin. "And my injuries may be rooted deeper than the campaign in Ba Sing Se. I was wounded by my parents deserting me, but the wound didn't fester until I was growing up in Zaofu..."

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, I've been sidelined by the flu. I've though a lot about adding Iroh to the official character list, but in the end, I think I'm not going to because this is Kuvira's story (in case there was any curiosity about not including him). I'm not even sure of how much longer I'll write Iroh. The current plan is to begin exploring the messed up Su-Kuvira relationship, by way of flashbacks. But, if you haven't noticed, my plans have this funny habit of changing really quickly. Hopefully this one will stick.**

**Anonymous**


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